The Butterfly Effect
by S.F. Card
Summary: She failed. The Stone of Dreams is gone and now her life is over, or so she thought? What happens when an outside force counteracts the spell and sends them into a completely different reality? Jalex! Non-incestuous
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not presently own Wizards of Waverly Place, nor will I ever own Wizards of Waverly Place. All rights are reserved for their respective owners. Disney © 2009-2010**

**Please Read: This chapter has been rewritten. There are some small changes, feel free to reread if you have already, and to those who just happened to see this fic please enjoy! **

**-Altered 01-01-10-**

I was too late.

After everything, we were still too late.

The unique thing about truth was what it did (especially to people like me). It snapped things, things I'd ignored, into perspective, and drove a stake into what was left of my heart. It showed me what a stupid, narcissistic person I was, and how much I needed Justin to fix my mistakes. A cold chill swept over me, creeping over my bones like a virus, a weed growing and growing until it found its place in the pit of my stomach. Watching him get ripped away from me—no physical pain would compare. I couldn't help wishing that that were an alternative, so that for one moment I could have him back and he could right my wrongs (again).

The cold morphed in my stomach twisting and turning into an unquenchable emptiness that festered where it rooted itself as blood rushed to my face to meet the tears that boiled over. The vacancy echoed in the dead beating of my heart.

The realization that my selfishness was what brought me to this place made every heartbeat feel like fire as it ran through my body. Red-eyed, vicious teenage ignorance left me staring blankly at an empty battlefield; taking in the burns and earths blood splatter that we created. It was this battleground, though broken still beautiful, that mocked me; forcing me to acknowledge what I'd just lost. Justin's words echoed in my head – _stupid, irresponsible, sloppy —_and I knew that I couldn't deny that it was true.

Justin should have won the competition. That knowledge ran under my skin with such conviction that it cut to think about it, and I wondered how I could've been excited at all about winning what I clearly didn't deserve. I wasn't the better wizard, and I wasn't Justin. I could never be.

Everything was moving in slow motion, tears blurring what were left of my vision. I screamed. It was childish, pathetic, and it was far from the solution. Hysterics were usually something I avoided, but what was the point now? I yelled the spells, the incantations and attempt after attempt it led to more of nothing; just meaningless words. I blamed Justin in my head, but only to cover up the guilt and the facts that showed me I was at fault. I wanted so badly for this to be someone else's fault; someone else's problem.

My knees buckled under the weight of the pain, and as I sunk to the grass beneath me I saw my dad approach. He took careful steps towards me, clearly uncomfortable with my emotional breakdown. Hell, I wasn't all that comfortable with it myself. My dad had always been tactless when it came to women, so his hesitancy was no surprise.

"I'm too late, dad," I choked through a sob. Maybe I was still just a little shocked that we'd actually failed, after being so close to returning our lives to normal. Justin had been so sure…

My dad wore an empathetic expression as he knelt down beside me.

"It's gonna be okay, Alex," he hesitated before placing a hand on my shoulder, and I saw in his eyes that some part of him believed me, some part of him knew that I was his daughter. I wanted that to make the difference, I wanted that knowledge to be able to change the fact that I was still too late, and soon I, like my brothers, would be taken by that invisible force called magic and so forcing reality to right itself.

He helped me up as he stood and repeated himself with such assurance. "You can do this; just concentrate,"

His words were so sure that I almost believed him like I'd believed Justin, but I finally knew what Justin had been trying to teach me all along. _Truth cannot be hidden; all things done in the shadows will eventually come to light_. There was no turning back, not without the Stone of Dreams. I wondered if my parents knew that I appreciated them, loved them, and needed them. That despite how adult I pretended to be that I would never stop needing them. Did I show them enough appreciation for putting up with me (not an easy feat, I know)?

I studied his face dedicating seemingly mundane features to my memory so that I could never forget. He had brown eyes like mine, dark like mud after rain, and they held such a sad aura that it felt like my ribs were collapsing. It was a face I'd grown up with, so familiar and now so distant. I knew that he tried, honestly tried, to remember us but it could never be enough. So I smiled for him, in spite of it all, to show him it would be okay. To prove to myself for once that I, Alex Russo, could be selfless.

I wished my mom were there too, so I could put pieces of her into my memory. I would've given anything to see her there, even if she were livid, angry at my juvenile behavior.

Maybe tomorrow they would forget we ever existed because as of now we never did. Maybe my parents would find each other anyway, they always said that love found a way—that fate always wins in the end. That would be enough for me; knowing they were happy.

Every decision I'd made had led to this point, this final goodbye. I was beyond saving now—no mom or dad to rectify this wrong. No Justin to catch me before I hit the bottom. I was really, for once in my life, alone. But I'd asked for this.

The once pure sky turned dark, marred by ominous clouds that foreboded the coming event. Thunder erupted in the distance, echoing like a gunshot around me; the sky flashed bright yellow as invisible bolts streaked across the haze from behind the clouds. I took in a solid breath, casting one final glance in my dad's direction. "I love you, dad," I said through a watery smile. It was the least I could do for the sixteen years of ignoring what he did for me.

As if on cue, the black clouds twisted and swirled until it became the giant cyclone that I knew would swallow me whole. It snaked out, reaching eagerly for the earth before it raced towards me with blinding speed. Everything seemed slower than it was. It moved from left to right like a viper ready to strike. It was the predator, I was the prey; vulnerable and weak.

"Alex!" My father called a familiar brokenness in his voice as he tried to grab for me, but it swept me up easily.

The viper ate without contempt, swallowing me whole just as I'd expected. A cry was building in the back of my throat, that even while alone, I tried to fight. I needed to fight it. I failed. I felt like a broken record for wallowing in my self-pity. I had to let go. I let the whimper fall from my lips, unable to contain it.

Minutes passed slowly. Were they minutes? The concept of time seemed to fade in this place. It could've been hours, but I heard it. It was my name. There was no mistaking that voice.

It was hard to move dangling in the air, surprisingly enough, because everything felt like it was being sucked into a vacuum. There was no debris in the tornado and so once I mastered maneuvering my neck, I saw him instantaneously. I could never miss that jet black faux-hawk. Justin. My Justin. He was okay and suddenly the weight in my chest didn't seem so unbearable anymore.

Justin, still wearing the ugly purple jumpsuit from the competition, hung suspended in the air several feet below me. His blue eyes were wide half-relieved, half-panicked. I was starting to feel sick.

The cold air burned my lungs when I sucked in a breath large enough to speak to him.

"What's going on?" I called over the loud whistle of the twister.

Silence.

"I don't know something's counteracting the spell!"

The thing about spells; magic in general, was that it was sporadic. Controlling it was hard enough to do as a wizard, even an experienced wizard, and counteracting spells of this… magnitude? ...was even more difficult. Especially one so emotionally attached to its caster. The thought of something counteracting it was mind blowing. Only the most powerful wizards, usually of the Ealdormen (i.e. wizard council) could do something like that.

"What're you talking about?" Breath. "I thought this spell was irreversible with anything but the Stone of Dreams!"

"There are a lot of loopholes, Alex," he muttered exasperatedly. "Merlin's Hat, remember?"

Well, that would've been useful information beforehand. I glared at him, mostly out of habit. A sarcastic comment bubbled up on the tip of my tongue, but I ignored it (for once). Before I knew it, I found myself drifting towards Justin where he was as we turned and turned and I didn't stop until I was brushing up against his arm.

Something became apparent. "Where's Max?" Justin shrugged keeping his face carefully expressionless. "Wait, how can you remember me? You forgot about me…" the last words hurt more than I wanted them to (more than I wanted to let on). I forced the cry back down my throat.

"I told you, something big is interfering with the spell."

"What could even _do _that? I thought you had to be a powerful wizard to do that – Ealdormen powerful," Yeah, I did pay attention.

"Yeah, you do have to be powerful," he answered making a small gesture with his hands, "but it's highly unlikely in this case. It would have to be an extremely powerful artifact or… Alex?"

I was trying desperately to focus on his words, but they weren't sticking. I looked up at him trying to remember when he'd had three faces. He assessed immediately that something was wrong. My eyes felt heavy—my body was numb.

"Alex?" He said again grasping my arm.

"Something's wrong, Justin, I don't think I can stay awake much longer." The words ran together as I said it, sounding more than a little in need of a sobriety test. I was frustrated and angry with Justin and myself because we couldn't fix it this time. I was dizzy because God, how long did we have to keep spinning around like this?

I peered over at him sideways; his silvery-blue eyes intense. "You _can't _fall asleep, Alex, you have no clue what that could do." I could hear his words becoming less and less articulated, which was rare for Justin and his abnormally high standards. "The Butterfly Effect—that's the other possibility—something in the atmosphere must've changed the spell."

The words danced around my comprehension, and I was surprised that he could still sound so composed when he sounded so drunk. He continued.

"It's only ever been recorded twice, and even then most of the Wizard Council and Ealdormen are skeptical." Technically speaking, the Wizard Council and Ealdormen were one in the same; the only difference being that Ealdormen were hundreds of years old and were rumored to be the most powerful of all wizards; somehow the mastery of their spells kept them alive all this time. Then again, it was also rumored that they had the Philosopher's Stone (never could trust the wizarding world gossip). Not that any of that mattered now. "The whole idea behind it is centered on the ludicrous mortal theory that a butterfly could alter the path of a tornado just by flapping its wings. The difference is that our version talks about outside forces—solar flares, meteors entering the atmosphere—causing atmospheric changes to occur and alter the spell. This could change our world as we know it…"

_This could change our world as we know it… _Something deep within me registered these words. I felt them with such credence; felt the change coming as I stared at my brother. All the features of Justin's face were blurred, and my heavy eyes were beginning to close. "I love you, Justin," I murmured before allowing myself to fall into the darkness.

--

I thought I was blind when I awoke to the thick darkness. How did I get here? Where was here? I tried to reach for my face but felt nothing. I forced myself not to panic, though my mind was spinning with uncertainty. There was a high pitched ringing that resounded in my ears—the kind that (I heard) accompanied shell shock, though I doubted I was suffering that. Then again, I'd been wrong before.

Was I dead?

Oh, God, I didn't make it to heaven did I? The anxiety at bay was wavering against the invisible militia I attempted to create.

I tried again to move, feel, see—something, anything to prove to myself that I was still alive. Fruitless attempts pierced holes through my army and allowed the distress to pour in.

"Is she alive?" A voice queried. The voice was outside of my head, so there was a good chance that I wasn't a schizophrenic (which was good). The question echoed my very thoughts. The voice was gravelly and strained as if the person had taken their vocal cords out and dragged them through a desert of some kind.

I couldn't hear the person that he or she was obviously talking to. There were two possibilities: one, the person took a long time to respond; or two, I had the misfortune of being kidnapped by a mental case bent on violating me. I shuddered at the thought. I was really hoping for the former. Someone answered their question but it was too soft for me to hear with clarity, which they were obviously satisfied. A few moments of silence passed and I wondered if whoever it was had left me. There was no indication anyone had come or went, but it didn't stop the unease. What kind of douche bag leaves someone they think my be dead or dying?

Oh God, it was a psychopath wasn't it? (Okay, so jumping to the first bad conclusion wasn't exactly the smartest thing I'd ever done, but in my defense, the 21st century was littered with mothers killing their children so nothing could be left to the imagination.)

In my alarm, I almost didn't notice the flash of light that passed through my eyes (a very slim almost). The light filtered in one by one, followed by colors—blue, green, yellow. Relief was instantaneous. The fullness of the glow against my eyes was intense but appreciated because I couldn't deny that I was alive. My body still felt like lead but the knowledge that I was alive was enough to subdue any further panic. My vision was still fuzzy and the shapes around me seemed odd and indistinct.

I wondered subtly if I was missing glasses or contacts or something.

"She's definitely alive," the other voice said. Well, I definitely wasn't alone.

Who these people were or why they surrounded me, I wasn't sure. I was only acutely aware of how my eyes were swimming in and out of focus.

"Someone get her a blanket quickly!" I shook my head (or I thought I did). I didn't want a blanket. I felt hot and sticky without one, but I couldn't find my voice. Slowly, the feeling returned to my limbs and I could feel grass beneath me, and the itchy wool blanket they draped over me. With the feeling was my sight, the formerly vague shapes were now clear.

"Can you speak?" I turned towards the voice to find a silvery-blue eyed man, probably in his late forties, looking sympathetically down at me. The man, whoever he was, had a receding hairline and crow's feet like you wouldn't not believe. His bushy brown eyebrows accented the color of his eyes—his familiar blue eyes that reminded me of someone that I couldn't remember. I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. My frustration twisted knots in my stomach.

I shook my head. He knelt down beside me and helped me up. Mr. No-Name was looking pointedly away and I wasn't sure why until I was sitting. When I sat up I was surprised to find that I was completely naked; I quickly grabbed the woolen blanket that they draped over me. That was uncomfortable. When it was safely around my body, he looked at me again.

"I'm Jeffery McCormack; I'm here to help," he said politely sticking out his hand for me to shake. His words sounded like the start of an under-budgeted commercial. I stared at it without moving, still unnerved with my situation. A few breaths passed and he let his hand drop awkwardly to his side. "Can you write?"

Oh, c'mon, can I write? What kind of question is that supposed to be anyway? I glared at him in a way that felt instantly familiar. I was lost and maybe even confused, but I wasn't stupid. The rational part of my brain (the part I often quelled with emotion) told me that it was a legitimate question, but I ignored it.

He didn't seem to notice. He turned to look at someone that I couldn't see from the position I had on the ground. A young brunette girl, maybe twenty-four or five, handed him a clipboard with several sheets of blank notebook paper.

"Who are you?"

I froze.

Who am _I_? The question rang with such conviction in my mind. That was definitely an important question that needed answering like now. The problem was that I was wracking my brain for memories, a name; an age—anything. I could only remember indistinguishable colors: purple, gray, and black. I scribbled quickly: _I don't know. _

That panic from earlier was definitely back and here to stay. Amnesia wasn't exactly something I needed. The thought of who I was didn't even cross my mind because I was focusing on determining whether I was alive, but now… blank. Naked, lost, confused; it seemed fate wanted to throw me for a loop with the Jane Doe thing.

Just call me #2539, I wanted to say. The stingy comment would've felt so good on my lips; I could feel it budding there begging to be said.

"You have no recollection of who you are? What you were doing before this?" Didn't I just answer that? I could only shrug and point again to the paper.

"Are you hurt?" I shook my head. Physically? No, not from what I could tell. Emotionally, I was kind of a wreck—not that I'd admit that to an utter stranger.

There was one thing I was certain of, and that was that I was already tired of the twenty questions. I didn't even know the answers, but I knew that I needed them. They were kinda vital to having a normal existence.

How old was I? Where was I from? What would happen to me now?

He was about to ask another question when he got interrupted by the girl whose voice I heard prior to this. "There's a boy who looks like her, he's in the same state of... confusion, and he's only a few yards away through the brushes. We're going to bring him in with her."

Jeffery nodded once and retrained his eyes on me. His expression was unreadable, but there was someone out there who looked like me and that had to mean something…


	2. Complications: I

**Disclaimer: I do not presently, nor will I ever own Wizards of Waverly Place. No copyright infringement is intended and all rights are reserved for their respective owners. Disney © 2009-2010**

**Please Read: Hey all, as you may have noticed it's been a while since my last update! I do want to apologize for that, but I spent my entire Christmas break rewriting these chapters because of some things that I had to change in order for the fifth chapter to make sense. Feel free to reread through the first four chapters, though it's not required. **

**-Altered 1-01-10-**

It was like a nightmare replaying over and over in my head, except that it wasn't.

I laid awake in the confines of m hospital room where my namelessness and naivety could hover above me like a gray cloud. It felt like something was missing—something very important to me—and it reflected in the emptiness that reverberated in my chest. Those argent blue eyes… they haunted my very existence. Ever since I saw them, I felt at home in them and everyone who had them. Where had I seen them before that launched such a deep connection? When did I fall in love with them? How could I love what I couldn't remember?

They were all questions that I wanted the answer to, and yet none that had an answer.

I had spent the last 48 hours discovering what little I could about myself, and managed to walk away with only one thing. I was twenty, I wasn't even sure how the doctors found that out, but I suspected it had to do with some bizarre CSI thing. Though, if that were the case wouldn't they have more information on me?

Everyone around me kept saying that it would be okay, but could anyone truly say, with sincerity, that they understood what it felt like to be this… decrepit? The sympathetic smiles and pats on the back from faces that were less recognizable than my own were grating at best. They were too fake; too appeasing to be considered remotely genuine. After all, how many people actually cared about something other than themselves?

There were a small series of knocks at the door; I was ready to ignore it but then a voice spoke, "Alex?"

The light from the hallway waned into view until it became a giant distorted rectangle on the wall and window. I always slept turned away from the corridor so that if anyone entered I could just ignore them, but it also meant that I couldn't see the random passerby who was clearly addressing me. Alex, it had a nice ring to it, but I didn't know it was my name. I pushed myself up on my elbows so that I could see who the random visitor was.

"Alex," he said again. I couldn't make out his face because the light behind him darkened his features. He was clearly a patient of this stupid place too. I didn't answer him but not because I didn't want to, and more because I still hadn't gained my voice back. The fluorescent lights above us flickered on when he flipped the switch and burned my eyes. I flinched away from it.

After some rapid blinking, the discolored shapes disappeared and I evaluated the person before me. I was surprised to see a younger looking boy, maybe two or three years younger than I was, standing there. His curly brown locks fell to the middle of his neck and with his deep brown eyes he stared at me with an expression of disbelief. I raised an eyebrow at him.

What was he doing here?

"You're Alex," I wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a question or a statement; it sounded like he wasn't so sure himself. I shrugged. I wasn't sure who I was but I liked the name (if that meant anything at all).

"I-I'm your brother," He whispered tapping his chest repeatedly. It sounded like a secret. I could see why someone would think that he was my brother. His eyes were a deep coffee color, but not black coffee; definitely creamed coffee. His skin was slightly tanner than mine, from what I could tell anyway, but his face was rounded in a way similar to mine. Everything about his face seemed round like mine. "Max."

"M-max?" I croaked. The words seemed to splinter on the way up, running knives up my throat as they escaped. His eyes lit up and he nodded fiercely, but he didn't know that I still didn't recognize him.

"I don't know you…" I spoke softly so quiet, in fact, that I wasn't sure he heard me.

He nodded, "I'm not sure I know you either, but I remember you from my dream. The doc says that dreams could make connections with the past." He explained, "I-I dunno, I just—you seem familiar…"

I considered this for a moment. Over the past two days, I didn't allow myself to sleep in the bizarre fear that I would be back to square one.

"How?"

"How what?"

"Do you remember?"

He took a seat on the edge of my bed and seemed to deliberate for a moment, cradling his chin with his hand. He closed his eyes when he spoke, "You were there before I got taken by the tornado, by the shore on that island."

A memory.

It trickled into my mind unrushed, and I remembered the caves and the ocean (vaguely) but it was still there. The blue eyes, they were still without a face, but I definitely remember looking into them in desperation. His words didn't quite make sense, but how could I challenge what I clearly remembered? Most importantly, I remembered something.

"Are you my only brother?" I murmured a little stronger this time; it was almost audible. He shrugged.

"I guess so, I don't remember anyone else."

A thousand thoughts were running through my mind: Did we have parents? Who was the guy with the blue eyes? Did he remember any of that?

"Do you remember a boy with blue eyes in your dream?" I asked, scooting closer to him. He shook his head 'no'. This fact frustrated me. Why did I remember this phantom boy?

"At all?"

"No," he answered. "I only remember you, an old lady, and an old guy, he was kinda chubby. I don't even really know how we ended up here in the first place or why we were naked in that field."

"So _you_ were the one they found in that field with me." I thought out loud. He nodded shrugging his shoulders again.

"I think we were trying to find something," he added as an afterthought, "something to make us a family again. Yeah, that's right, a family."

He seemed to be talking more to himself now. He was staring at his hands, looking kind of sad, and it made my stomach lurch. If he was my brother like he claimed, we would have to stick together. They didn't tell me anything about Max or his possible relation to me, and my suspicion of the hospital and those who claimed to help me grew. It could've been the same reason they gave us private hospital rooms (which were generally pretty expensive).

Max looked exhausted as he sat there on my bed in his hospital gown thing (extremely ugly things, believe you me). I imagined he wasn't getting much more sleep than I was. I felt a twinge of sympathy for him, my supposed brother.

"You should get some sleep," I said gently prodding his arm. "Meet me here tomorrow, maybe we can get out of here—I'm a legal adult after all."

He smirked at me and I could tell he liked that idea. I mean, who likes hospitals anyway? He slipped out of my room when he thought no one was there, but I guessed they had security cameras all over the place. Maybe I would try to sleep tonight.

--

The sun rose too soon.

It was a strange feeling—a cross between being too alert and too sleepy. Golden rays of sunshine filtered in through the plastic blinds and unattractive orange curtains, blinding me momentarily. The smell of eggs and bacon wafted past my nostrils and my stomach growled, but I wasn't eager. It's probably genetically altered. My stomach moaned in protest. Breakfast awaited me, as unappetizing as it sounded, and I was ready to talk to Max (it was Max, right?) again. One memory was enough to make me eager, even if it didn't make sense or never would.

I ate without tasting the just barely edible cafeteria food that the nurse left for me. She made regular intervals to check on me, asking humdrum questions like "Did you sleep well?" or "How was breakfast?", and blah, blah, blah before she finally left me alone for the afternoon. The TV was on some local news station that I didn't bother changing because one, I didn't know how, and two, I didn't want to have to call another nurse into my room. Luckily, the dope that Jeffery left in charge here requested that the doctors and nurses kept visitation to a minimum (gotta love private businesses).

I managed to find a notebook and pencil in one of the drawers by my bed (y'know the ones that have Bible's in them?) much to my relief. Passing the time was hard enough without something to occupy my hands.

My fingers felt hot against the pencil, fervid to find the paper. The lines it made were of its own accord it seemed. I watched as the lines grew from vague shapes and into one eye and then another. A straight, statuesque nose followed; then thin lips that turned down slightly at the corners; showing signs of stress or distain. Sharp eyebrows were furrowed to match lips in familiar strain, maybe panic, and an angular jaw line and neck that led to semi-broad shoulders. When I pulled away, the face made my stomach churn. It looked too familiar but so obscure.

"_Next, Justin Russo, kid prodigy of the world-renown surgeon Aurick James Russo,"_ I looked up at the young brunette newswoman, _"was found naked and confused outside of Eldridge State Forest by a student of the New York State Biodiversity Institute today. Why his disappearance was never made public!" _

Channel Five Local News flashed in bright red and white letters for a moment above the picture of the missing boy. I gaped at the screen and time seemed to stop. Thin lips, straight nose, deep set eyebrows—Justin Russo—silver-blue eyes. My head throbbed at the new information, and suddenly a piece fell into place.

We were both missing. We were both found naked, confused. There had to be a connection between us.

A loud knock to my door broke my train of thought and I slammed the notebook shut, shoving it under the covers of my bed. Michael, the guy that McCormack put in charge, poked his head through the door, smiling genially when he saw that I was sitting very still, and I couldn't begin to understand what thoughts must've been running through his mind.

He was our caretaker, I guess; the one who kept tabs on us and reported back to his team of people who were supposedly trying to keep us safe. 'Our' referring to me and Max, though he'd never allowed us to formally meet. He was somewhat young, if you considered thirty something young. He had dark brown eyes that were almost black—not the kind I liked. I didn't like him. I couldn't pin point why, but maybe it was his overzealous attempts to be pleasant or the feeling that he wasn't always telling me the whole truth.

"You seem to be awake," he said entering the room completely. "Glad we got you the private room, huh?"

I offered a placating smile which he seemed all too happy to take and nodded. He glanced at the TV and shook his head a little, the newscasters were now talking about a robbery that'd taken place just hours before. "Can never quite escape evil can you?"

I laughed a little still trying to pacify and mimicked him by shaking my head as well. He took a seat on the edge of my bed, making me think for a moment about Max and I wondered subtly if any minute he'd barge through the door. "So how's your voice?"

"Fine," I said weakly. I speculated for a second whether he could hear my thundering heartbeat or see the beads of sweat that I could feel forming at my forehead. I couldn't place why I felt so defensive about Justin Russo, but I knew that my gut was never wrong. The thought of Michael discovering my knowledge of him sent a shiver down my spine. He could never know.

"How's the other boy?" I whispered curious to gauge his reaction.

"Absolutely fine," he said without missing a beat. It was an automatic answer, and I could tell. There was one thing I knew I hated, whether I had before or not I was unsure, but I hated to be appeased especially with lies. I could see in his face that he wasn't giving me a direct answer and the way he wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Could I meet him? I might be able to remember something," my words were true, to an extent, but I knew that I wouldn't tell him anything else. The offer was obviously too much for him to refuse.

"Sure, sure; just a second," he said using his index finger to make a 'one'. He left the room and I ripped the picture out of the notebook, and put the notebook back in its place in the drawer.

It took several minutes before he brought Max in. My heart was jackhammer-ing around in my chest; I actually thought I'd lost my hearing for a moment. Seeing Max made everything easier, seeing him safe and sound was all that I needed. There was a knowing look in his eyes—they hadn't brainwashed him. Part of me realized I was starting to sound like a conspiracy theorist, but it was instinct: _Don't trust them. _I had to trust it. Michael soon (too soon) led Max out of my room and we were alone again.

"Listen," Michael began, "me and the team think we might've found your parents."

My face puckered in question.

"What about the boy?"

He stopped, looking at me cautiously, as if I might hurt him. I wasn't entirely sure that was possible, but whatever worked.

"What about him?"

I considered the facts in my head. Telling him would mean admitting something I wasn't sure of, but then there was no telling what could happen to Max if I left. "He's my brother,"

"…your brother?" he tried, his murky gaze provisional.

"Yes," I snapped.

"How do you know?" He prompted. I glared at him again, much like I had the first day.

"His name is Max," I sneered. "And he's my brother."

He didn't argue. Actually, he smirked, a knowing smirk that led me to believe that he already knew that. I glowered again, hoping my narrowed eyes would somehow reinstall the fear that I saw only moments ago. It seemed to work or maybe he was a better actor than I gave him credit for. It didn't matter. What did matter was that he was lying to us and I knew it.

"Alright," he said clapping his hands together. "Well, I believe you. Anyhow, your parents want to meet you tomorrow."

I nodded.

He reciprocated, "Alex."

Wait, how did he know my name? Max wouldn't have told him, would he? I wasn't sure but the situation seemed to get more and more complicated by the minute. And who was this boy, Justin Russo? Confused, naked in the woods? It couldn't be coincidental.

--

**Authors Note: Please read and review! These things keep me eager to write! **


	3. Meet The Parents: II

**Disclaimer: I do not presently, nor will I ever own Wizards of Waverly Place. No copyright infringement is intended and all rights are reserved for their respective owners. Disney © 2009-2010**

**Please Read: Hey all, as you may have noticed it's been a while since my last update! I do want to apologize for that, but I spent my entire Christmas break rewriting these chapters because of some things that I had to change in order for the fifth chapter to make sense. Feel free to reread through the first four chapters, though it's not required. **

**-Altered 1-01-10-**

_If he took a moment to analyze this he would know that something was wrong, terribly wrong. He would see the trees and swamp and his state of undress and he would know that something happened—something big, irreversible probably. He would wonder where Alex and Max were. He would wonder where he was. _

_Of course, being the person he was, he did analyze it and analyze it and analyze it until it was properly overdone. He did notice the trees and the birds and the sky and how he was naked. He noticed how wrong it all was. He did wonder where his siblings were. He wondered where he was. _

_He lay still glancing minutely from side to side. He found that he was unable to move his head very much because of that pain that flashed across his temple. From the look of it, he was lost in some kind of wooded area – a forest maybe—which would be bad, so very bad because God knew that he was horrible about being outside. Bugs, poison ivy, having to use his hands, there was no doubt that he would probably die. _

_There was one thing that he was certain of, and that was the fact that they had just entered a new reality. No, it was nothing like the sci-fi movies he watched so many times before, the ones that Alex patronized him for watching. The sky was still blue, the trees still green, and not a thing seemed out of place—except for him of course. _

_He heard the crack of branch, and he whipped his head around to see where it came from; another bolt of discomfort ran through his forehead. Don't move so fast, he reminded himself. He couldn't move his legs; as a matter of fact they felt like they weren't there at all. He was worried, but he really couldn't focus on that now, he needed to figure out a way to escape. He noticed now that his hand was laying limp in a puddle of black and brown water that was crawling with algae and water bugs. _

_Stagnant water, stagnant water, stagnant water, he started to panic. No, wait, stop it, Justin! This isn't the time. _

"_H-Hello?" A petite voice called; another branch crackled. He didn't miss how apprehensive it sounded. What could she be frightened of? _

_There was an audible moan somewhere to his right, and the girl called out again. Where on earth was he? The moans grew louder as she approached, and for an instant he wondered if the awful sound was coming from her. There was a gasp, and the thrashing of dead leaves and sticks. Then, he realized, the moaning sound was coming from him. _

"_Oh my gosh, are you okay?" She was as small as her voice sounded. She had a round face and big blue eyes that seemed to suck him in with their beauty, but there was something about the way her brunette hair framed her face that made his stomach jolt. It reminded him of her—what was her name? Oh no. Was it his cousin? No. Sister? Friend? _

_Well, that's not good, he thought in a horror to himself. _

"_We better get you to a doctor," she murmured when he didn't answer. _

_--_

Patience is the support of weakness; impatience the ruin of strength.

The sun sat high in the sky, it was somewhere between ten and noon. The bright, golden rays cut through the tall, crimson curtains that draped from the high windows. Three ornate chandeliers decorated the ceiling; the sunlight glistened off the fragmented glass occasionally shining in my eyes. Prissy purebred rich girls littered the area casting scowls in our general direction—I'm sure they could smell the second hand clothing we were wearing (like we could choose). I hated it.

Five days of waiting.

Five days of postponing the inevitable.

Five days of Michael trying to convince us that it was necessary.

Five days.

There was a driving beat somewhere in between my lungs that was making it difficult to breathe; the pulsating rhythm hammering against my ribs. Breathe in, breathe out. Inhale, exhale. It's a practice we call breathing. I was restless and I wouldn't admit it. I was tapping my foot against the beige and brown tiles like a jackhammer; it was loud, obnoxious and it did everything but occupy my mind. Max sat idly beside me, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, looking at me with obvious concern. I was being irrational. I glared at him with that 'what the hell are you looking at' kind of expression that made him redden and turn away, abashed.

Part of me, the rational part, felt guilty about lashing out at him for nothing, but showing weakness… well, it wasn't an option for me.

I drummed my fingers against the burgundy wood of the table; my hands shaking on their own accord. If I were being honest, yes, I was scared – probably the most scared I'd been in the week that I'd been here—but hell would sooner freeze over before I attempted to verbalize it. We were meeting our parents. The parents I never knew or couldn't remember? I wasn't sure which. Truthfully, Max's memory of the beach and caves seemed eerily familiar—too much to be certain.

"It's perfectly normal to be nervous, Alex," Michael.

I clamped down hard on my tongue (enough to draw a little bit of blood) to stop he curse that was crawling up my throat. He had finally arrived. He took the empty seat next to me and the hairs on my neck spiked. I didn't like the way my name sounded in his mouth. Max gawked at him in that way that said, 'I cannot believe you just told her that'. I didn't blame him. I was being edgy and irascible.

I couldn't place what exactly it was about him that I hated, but there was something.

"I am _not _anxious," I spat crossing my arms petulantly. However, I wondered deep down if they would recognize us or if we would suddenly recognize them. Would the memories come back like they insisted they would?

Michael told us that there were many missing children's reports, and they were only following up a lead. He mentioned that even though the described missing fit our description that there was a possibility they wouldn't be the ones. It didn't concern me so much because I was an adult now, but Max, I worried about him.

I was tired of wondering what would happen to Max. I was tired of wondering what would happen to me for that matter. I hated second guessing people, especially myself.

Michael shifted uncomfortably in his seat and I couldn't fight the smirk at my lips. What a wimp. He began rummaging through his messenger bag (that sacred thing he kept all that information in); he seemed fidgety all of the sudden. He pulled out a yellow manila folder and held it close to his face, so close that I could no longer see his eyes. For some reason, he and his minions had opted to keep our whole story secret, and pushed anyone who questioned him out of the way. Neither of us was sure why it was so important to keep it on the down low, but they did everything within their power to keep everyone quiet—to the extent of private rooms in the hospital.

"It says here that your parents are Tessa and Garret De Luca," Michael matter-of-factly.

There was silence. Max and I exchanged a wry glance because neither of us knew exactly what to say to that statement. He seemed to forget that we couldn't _remember _these people, regardless of who they said they were. He peaked over the folder, his eyebrow cocked in officiousness, and his giant coal eyes staring at us expectantly.

"What?" I barked. As far as necessity went, it wasn't one but there was something about Michael that irked me. It didn't help that my mind was spinning out of control with all kinds of insecurities I didn't know I had and questions that I didn't know I needed the answers to.

He pursed his pale lips so that they were a thin line, his eyes narrowing significantly. I couldn't quite deny the satisfaction that swept over me to know that I got under his skin. The ability to wipe the smug, know-it-all look off of his face was a talent; I was sure, of my prior life because it felt so convicting but so right and so… me.

"Your parents will be here soon." He was tart and annoyed as he pushed the folder towards us.

I took it first, the smooth material of it felt nice against my fingertips as I flipped it open. I saw two pictures. One was labeled Tessa, and it had a picture of a beautiful woman with a round face. She looked in her mid-forties, but there was an unerring aesthetic beauty about her and the way her brunette hair cupped her face and it kind of reminded me of myself. Her eyes were wide and brown; they looked as if they could peer into your soul. The other picture was of a man, blonde, six feet tall (according to the paper) and it was labeled Garret. He had brown eyes too, creamy brown like Max's; they looked kind, trusting and I felt like I could trust them already.

I pushed the folder towards Max.

I felt strangely, electricity pulsating under my skin; burning suddenly. It was as if I were caught between worlds. There was a connection to them that I felt ignite from somewhere in my ribs and spread from my fingertips to the soles of my feet, and yet a distinct disconnection that seemed ricochet in the pit of my stomach. And out of the blue my eyes started to sting in that familiar way, the way that I hated.

Both of the boys stared at me with mingled expressions—Michael seemed amused and bewildered, whereas Max seemed apprehensive and addled.

"Alex?" Max, his voice laced with genuine worry, put his hand on my shoulder which I abruptly shoved off. I hoped that he would forgive me for this later, but I just couldn't let them see me like this. The words _helpless _and _weak_ floated around in my mind. I scraped my chair on the faux-stone tile as I shoved myself backwards away from the table. I just had to leave, just for a little.

"I'll be back," I glanced at Max and offered the best reassuring smile that I could manage, and although it felt more like a lopsided frown I couldn't stay to explain.

I pushed the heavy silver door open and ignoring the doorman who greeted me, I walked across the street in fast strides to the park that was located there.

The atmosphere was different there—breathable. The grass was soft and brilliantly green, the sky was blue and clear—it was virtually perfect. There were kids playing with their parents on the swings or merry-go-rounds; couples with dogs laughing in the light of the sun, enjoying the life they had because they could remember. There was a cool breeze caressing my skin, teasing my hair, and for just a second relished how it felt to breathe.

It was because of this that the tears worsened and an overwhelming somberness engulfed me. The need to run itched at my legs. There was a tree a few yards away, maybe it was oak or maple (a botanist I was not) that was perfect for me. The tremendous branches swung out so far it could've been several different trees, but more importantly it gave me shelter so that no one could see that I was breaking down.

--

_There were whispers in the halls of the hospital of two other amnesia patients, one child and one adult, that were checked out that day. He didn't pride himself in eavesdropping, but the nurses didn't seem to mind handing out the information (well, as far as generic information goes). His father had come to pick him up, though he wasn't exactly sure who 'he' was. He thought he knew back in the forest where he was found, but then it faded and now he was as clueless as ever. _

_He did learn some things though. His father, Aurick James Russo was revered (apparently) by all of the staff. He was a surgeon too. Their eyes got all glossy and they twinkled as if a celebrity had just walked through the door, which wasn't that unbelievable because he looked like a blonde (more Italian) version of Patrick Dempsey. Well, at least, that's what he'd heard from one of the female nurses. The male nurses seemed miffed by his very appearance, but he assumed that was for egocentric reasons. _

_Everyone seemed to know him, though he didn't know anyone. There were cameras and people shoving microphones into his face. It flabbergasted him because he couldn't answer any of their questions. _

_His father had stepped in for him, "There will be no questions at this time, when Justin feels up to it, I'm sure that he would love to be pestered by you vultures, however, until then I would welcome some cooperation." _

_There was a certain way his father carried himself that immediately subdued the ravenous journalists. He still couldn't understand why these people were so interested in him. _

"_But he's the lead guitarist to the most popular band in America!" One reporter protested. This was news to him. Lead guitar? Had he even played guitar? Actually, he thought, that doesn't sound like too bad of an idea. He smirked a little at the thought, which gave way to a memory. It was a small memory of a girl: brunette, brown eyes, big lips, bright smile and then crying, lots of it, and a bright red nose and bloodshot eyes as they pleaded – he knew her, from somewhere. _

_It saddened him. _

_They quickly exited the hospital in hopes of avoiding more traffic from sociopathic fans or money-grubbing reporters. They got into the car without word, he silently appraised it—Mercedes M3, it was a nice car. The wind whipped his hair backwards; it was slightly longer than he remembered, of course, that didn't mean much coming from an amnesia patient. He took in the sights and everything seemed brand new: the buildings, the smell of the city, and the feel of the brisk air on his skin. _

"_Hey, dad…?" He tried the words still didn't feel quite right on his tongue. Aurick glanced at him through the rearview mirror, green eyes attentive. "What were those reporters talking about?" _

_He dithered momentarily, "I wanted to ease you back into that lifestyle, but I guess since those stupid leeches insist on driving their fangs into your personal life…"_

_Aurick trailed off, lost in thought. "Dad…?" _

"_You and your brother started a band a few years back, you called it Alabaster Carnations for—oh, I dunno—a few months before Nathaniel beat you into changing it to Alabaster Broken. You did it for him and honestly neither of us expected it to take you to the top, but Nat had never been very good at anything outside of music."_

_He nodded taking it in. _

_They were a few miles away from the hospital when he saw it. That park. That face. If he hadn't been paying so close attention to his surroundings he would've surely missed it, but he didn't think he could miss something so… delicate. He saw her face—the one he saw in his mind. Even from under the shadow of the trees, he could never mistake it. "Stop!" he yelled. _

_His father looked at him aghast, "Justin, what's wrong with you?" He muttered his eyes wide. "I can't stop in the middle of the road!" _

"_Pull into that park, I know her." He said pointing with the enthusiasm of a two year old. Aurick conceded, he hadn't seen his son so resolute in a long time, and he hoped that whoever it was could revive a memory._

_They pulled into the small parking lot and he looked at his son for the first time, really looked at him. _

"_Hey, I know that you don't … remember," he began his expression indecipherable. "But it's good to have you back; it hasn't been the same without you." _

"_Thanks…?" He attempted. Aurick laid a reassuring hand on him. _

_He looked up, "Justin, if you're going to talk to your friend, you might want to hurry… she's leaving." _

_Justin looked around immediately, jumping out of the car as fast as humanly possible. He ran—for the first time since he could feel his legs—as fast as he could. _

--

**Authors Note: I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter! Please read and review, it's the thing that keeps me writing. **


	4. Affinity

**Disclaimer: I do not presently, nor will I ever own Wizards of Waverly Place. No copyright infringement is intended and all rights are reserved for their respective owners. Disney © 2009-2010**

**Please Read: Hey all, as you may have noticed it's been a while since my last update! I do want to apologize for that, but I spent my entire Christmas break rewriting these chapters because of some things that I had to change in order for the fifth chapter to make sense. Feel free to reread through the first four chapters, though it's not required. **

**-Altered 1-01-10-**

**af·fin·i·ty** (ə-fĭn'ĭ-tē)  
n. _pl._ **af·fin·i·ties**

A natural attraction, liking, or feeling of kinship.

Relationship by marriage.

An inherent similarity between persons or things. See Synonyms at likeness.

_Biology_ A relationship or resemblance in structure between species that suggests a common origin.

_Immunology_ The attraction between an antigen and an antibody.

_Chemistry_ An attraction or force between particles that causes them to combine.

--

I saw Max from across the street before he saw me from underneath the large tree. I decided I wouldn't let him worry too much for me, and got up to meet him where he was. He didn't see me for a moment, then he scanned the crowd again and his eyes met mine. I saw his shoulders sag in relief. He ran to meet me, much more eager than I expected.

"Alex! Alex, mom and dad are AMA-ZING." He emphasized it so that the last word sounded like two long ones. His hands were flailing in the air, as if it would further prove his point. I smiled gingerly and I realized how much of a kid he really was. He took my hand and dragged me along until we were at the front doors; he hesitated, suddenly unsure of himself. He looked at me from under his lashes, and there in his chocolate eyes I saw a boy. A boy who I recognized as my brother, a boy that I remembered pushing on the swings because he'd begged me until my ears were bleeding; a boy who shoved my face into my 13th Birthday cake. A boy that I remembered.

I remembered him: Maximum Andreo De Luca. The words meshed together to form a name that I recognized, and yet, the name Russo hung suspended in my brain. It loomed above me like a dark cloud, a reminder that there was something I was still missing and it had to do with _him_.

Breaking myself from those thoughts I looked back at Max, beaming, I nodded. It was now or never and since never wasn't an option; now was as good a time as any. He led me through the silver doors back into the lobby of the prissy princesses, and that's when I saw them. No memories flooded into my brain, but a wave of awe wrapped its arms around me. The electric pulse was back under my skin, throbbing like lightening beneath the flesh.

Garrett was hunched over protectively, cupping his hand near his mouth as if he were whispering something important to Michael who abruptly shook his head 'no'. I was curious now. They hadn't noticed us reenter the room. Tessa stood near them, her posture was stiff as if something had been said that she didn't like, but her facial expression remained carefully calm. Garrett peeked up to see us standing a few feet away; he straightened up. He offered a large smile and I found it hard not to trust him. Then, as if on cue, Tessa's gaze followed, her smile equally as welcoming as the last.

"Alex! Max!" She ran to us and enveloped us both in a strangling hug. "Oh, my little babies."

I was struggling to breathe, "Okay, okay…mom?" I tried to push her off gently, so I didn't hurt her feelings too badly.

"You remember me?" Her voice was hopeful and her eyes shimmered brightly because of it. I contemplated saying yes to appease her.

"I-uh-," I began running my hand through my hair, officially diffident. From my peripheral vision, something caught my eye: jet black hair. It was longer, covering some of his forehead, but I recognized it immediately. I gaped. Justin Russo was a few feet away from me.

Tessa followed my eyes to the boy; he seemed to be looking for someone. He placed one hand on his forehead and one on his hip, looking defeated. He dragged his long white hand through his hair, mimicking my very movement. Tessa's face scrunched up in a strange way, as if she was having a hard time seeing something.

He was wearing a blue plaid hoodie over a gray v-neck shirt. The hood was up, presumably, to keep away any clingy fan girls who were trying to stalk him.

"Hey, isn't that your high school friend," she said, "Justin Russo?" She laughed heartily, seeming to find something that I couldn't understand hysterical. She prattled on about diminutive details that I couldn't follow; I was busy watching him. He _was _searching for someone, and I suddenly wondered if that someone were me.

I guessed my 'mom' hadn't seen the news the before saying that Justin Russo had been found oblivious outside of a forest in New York because she kept going on and on about how he might want to talk to me. How he could bring back memories. I gulped hard, my lips were dry and my throat felt scratchy.

Our eyes met. He must've been five feet away, but he found me in the throng of people. He cocked his head to the side, reminiscent of a puppy, and began walking towards us in slow, small strides. The anxiety was written all over his face. Did it reflect in mine as well? All those days I'd dreamed about it, dwelled on it, wondered about it – now he was here. My heart was sputtering like a clogged gear in a car, and I could swear I'd just hiccupped one of my vital organs into my throat.

It seemed like forever before he was close enough to hear. "I know you," was all he said. His eyes questioned the words, but he said them with confidence.

"Uh, mom, I'll just be a second," I said holding up my index finger to emphasize my words. She nodded, smiling kindly to the boy I apparently knew, knew very well. I grabbed his wrist and dragged him into a corner just out of eyeshot.

"I know you," he said again. His blue eyes were piercing into mine, but I was trying not to focus on the intensity of it all. I tried to ignore whatever had broken free in the recesses of my soul, that familiar feeling that I couldn't quite place, or how there was a fire brewing under my fingertips where I touched his skin.

"You're Justin Russo, famous guitar player to Alabaster Broken," I said, "but you didn't know that until recently, did you?" He shook his head, so I continued. "You were found two days after me and my brother, and I think there's some kind of connection."

He was staring at our hands because I still had a grip on his. I let go instantly and then he looked up at me. "Do you feel that?"

A tepid current buzzed through my torso; building and building until it erupted where my skin met his. Of course I felt it, but I didn't want to. Tessa's words from earlier were ringing in my head. I remained silent.

"Look, we were found all in the same time frame, we all lost our memory, and apparently we have some kind of history here."

"You don't think we're from here, do you?" He gestured with his hands to the area around us. It was my turn to shake my head no. It didn't make sense though. My words were complete gibberish.

"What do you know about yourself?" I asked. I was curious what they'd told him. He fidgeted under my gaze for a bit before answering.

"I'm 22; I graduated Colombia University at 18 with a Bachelor's in Robotic Engineering. I started Alabaster Broken with my brother. Of the two of us, he's the cooler one, but that's according to one of the nurses I overheard in the hallway. My dad talked about it briefly when we were in the car, said that I helped with the band thing because he wasn't good at anything else."

He was informed indeed. I felt stupid in comparison. I only knew that I was twenty and that I had a brother. I didn't know what high school I attended (though apparently it was the same as his), or if I went to college. I didn't know if I had an apartment or if I was living with my parents. Did I have a job? Was I an entrepreneur like Justin? Did I have talents?

I didn't have time to be self-conscious.

"So where does that leave us?" He asked his hand accidentally brushing against mine. I jumped at the surprising touch.

"I-I uh, well I dunno," I mumbled.

"Alex! We're leaving," Max called from somewhere behind me. Justin blushed.

"Well, I uh- I guess I'll… see you?" His voice was shaky, and his cheeks darkened. I smirked at his tactlessness, without much thought, I squeezed his fingertips before I turned on my heel to meet up with my family.

--

The drive home was pleasant, as pleasant as returning to an ultra vague place could be. Max and I took the back seat of a generic looking SUV; I didn't catch the brand, mostly because when it came to cars my interest fell flat. Garrett and Tessa ran through an extensive list of information while we drove the thirty minutes home to a suburb just outside of the city: where we lived, what school Max went to, where my apartment was—important stuff.

My focus was shattered. I missed my own address all because of Justin Freaking Russo. It was hardly fair. I didn't ask for this—whatever it was. I was beginning to get suspicious. Though I felt some bizarre connection to these people, I still felt disconnected. It was as if there was some invisible barrier that we were penetrating by being here, like me and Max didn't belong.

I was surprised when we pulled up to the one story off-white house. It was nice, but not what I expected. For some reason, when I saw them, I assumed they lived in an apartment as well somewhere in the thicket of the city. It seemed fitting for them, but I was wrong. Walking through the door was even more surprising—the living room was modernized, the foundation almost asian-esque in appearance. The window that led into the backyard was round, and the floor seemed to be made of bamboo. There were 16th century looking light fixtures, and an expensive looking miniature chandelier that dangled from the ceiling. There was no TV in the living room, but it was furnished with a maroon couch and matching loveseat, as well as a glass coffee table.

"Wow," Max breathed as he walked in behind me. "This is _awesome_."

I wanted to be skeptical, and I wanted desperately not to like these people that I didn't know but I couldn't seem to help myself. I grinned at Max and playfully punched his shoulder. "Don't drool all over the floor; you haven't even been here for two minutes."

He blushed and moved slowly about the room. I followed suit, instantly intrigued by a bookcase with the pictures that I'd missed when I first scanned the room. There were many pictures. The first was a wedding photo with Garrett and Tessa looking twenty years younger, and then one with a small girl with dark brown hair, swinging on a tire swing smiling brightly into the camera. The next was of a boy with curly light brown hair playing in a sandbox; his eyes squinted from the bright sunrays, and his half-toothy grin bright. He must've been two or three. It didn't take much to realize that it was me and Max. There were twenty more pictures that trailed after, each with the same two happy kids. We seemed to get along well.

Max popped up behind me, "What's that?" He pointed to a rather large black book with a velvety binding and large silver words that read TRIBECCA PREP 2010-2011. Curious, I picked it up; it felt heavy in my hand.

"It looks like a yearbook," I answered, and then pausing briefly I added. "My yearbook."

I scanned page after page looking for another familiar face, any other face, something that could spark a memory. My hand stopped on the second to last page titled 'A Night to Remember'. I wore a dress, the picture was black and white so I couldn't tell what color it was, it was elegant and I was dancing… with Justin Russo. He was smiling brightly as he twirled me. The book clattered to the floor because I was suddenly dizzy. I had to blink furiously to regain my composure; the room wouldn't stop spinning.

"Alex, honey!" Tessa called rushing to my side, "are you alright?"

"Uh, fine, just a little woozy," I responded making circles with my hands. I looked like I was trying to fan myself. She picked up the fallen book from the ground and made a small 'o' with her lips.

"Did something come back to you?" She asked her eyebrows furrowed in concern. She kept her arm around my back as if I were about to collapse; I almost fainted. What was wrong with me?

"No, I just feel dizzy all of the sudden," I put my hands up defensively.

She pursed her lips tightly and looked over my shoulder. "I think it's time to talk to your father,"

I turned around to find Garrett; he was looking at Tessa oddly. He put his hand on my back as well. From his pocket he pulled out a silver painted stick. I didn't know what it was, but I wondered why he had a stick in his pocket. He held it gently as if it were breakable, and then handed it to me.

"Do you know what this is?"

I shook my head.

"This," he said gesturing to the chrome stick, "is a wand, and _you_ are a wizard."

I laughed because it was the only thing I could think to do; crying definitely wasn't on my list of things to do. I'd had enough of that for one day.

"You won the family wizard competition." That was it. It only took those six words to make me remember, again, that place. The water. The sand. The competition. Now I knew something was definitely wrong.

**--**

**Read and review! I hope you enjoyed the story. Thank you again for reviewing or adding this story to favorites/alerts! **

**Steph. **


	5. Forked Road

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Wizards. Are you surprised? **

**Authors Note: FINALLY! Chapter five. Forgive me for the wait. I'm sooo sooo sorry. Happy New Year and Belated-Merry Christmas to you all! I hope this new chapter will be a token of my appreciation. If you guys still like me enough to review please do. Not getting any is really depressing. Please and thanks! **

**--**

Memories knit themselves together and ripped each other apart in the farthest part of my mind. It was like an old film, flickering in and out of focus, skipping some of the most important parts, and when I looked back the characters changed. Chagrin floated in the atmosphere, not bothering to mask itself as the naivety clung to my skin. The fine boundary my brain was failing to draw left everything a mess, capricious, and totally malleable to any force so much as touching it. When it came down to it, it was always about Justin Russo, though the details danced around my recollection. Sometimes, he was the sole subject of a memory, and others it was as if he never existed. However, it was the memories in which he didn't exist which drew the most attention to him.

"_I'll never leave you," _pervading words from a recent memory. They were Justin's words. A blonde man was off in the distance, his expression pained, confused. It was only a matter of seconds before I realized that the memory was of the Wizard Competition.

There were fundamental pieces missing; there was no beginning and no end—only this moment. I stared into cobalt eyes through a fuzzy memory, a pensive so shallow that I could only skim the surface, most (if not all) of the details falling from away from my minds-eye. How many times had I raked over his features with my eyes to have them implanted in my brain; to be the first thing that I thought about in the wake of my confusion?

I stood before a forked road and neither of them was less traveled. Memories that once contained Max were obliterated by Justin, and he took over completely. Simple, prevalent memories that once starred Max now starred Justin. It was beyond confusing. It was as if I'd lived to separate lives. I could feel the beginnings of a headache forming behind my eyes. The lines blurred where reality met—what was it? Fantasy? Non-Reality? – I wasn't totally sure.

They wouldn't ask, and I wouldn't tell. For the past few weeks, I'd been feigning remembering just so I could breathe without my parents hovering. I suspected that was why I decided to move so far away from them and into the multitude of the city. Garrett would've blown a vein if he knew that I was thinking about Justin this much. His exact words were, "Just forget about that dirty little home wrecker. I never liked that boy; he's just like every other rock star – a womanizer."

Anger rose like vomit in my throat. Good intentions, everyone has them.

I fell back onto the duvet on my bed. The faint smell of strawberries and vanilla wafted past my nose from the comforter.

The quiescent silence of my apartment was soothing to an extent, but mostly brooding. However, I was the one who begged for my parents to let me go. Solitude could only truly be appreciated when coming home from _home_. I twisted the titanium wand between my fingers, watching as it went back and forth like a metronome. I'd been perusing (albeit halfheartedly) a book of general spells that Garrett had lent me; not much of an entertaining read but I figured it'd be best to utilize my power.

I closed my eyes for a minute, thoughtful. Then, decisively, I spouted off a random spell and watched the tip of my wand illuminate. The light shot off and I watched it pinball around the room until it found its desired target, which was unfortunately my lamp. It shattered into a thousand little pieces against the wood floor. I frowned. That definitely wasn't supposed to happen.

With a groan, I opened the old large book sitting on my bed. It crackled in protest with every turn of the page. Ugh, why didn't things like this come with an index?

"Suppllex repairo," I muttered, watching the lamp move collectively off the floor and put itself back together. That was easy.

Just as I was about to read on, something clanged against my window on the second floor of my apartment building. My hands immediately flew to my chest; I felt the crescent moon shapes being branded into my skin as if my hands would stop my heart from leaping out of its place. I barely head back the scream that hung itself in the back of my throat.

"Sorry!" I cocked my head to the side; suddenly curious I made my way over to the window.

It was too dark to see anything on the outside with the glare that my lights were creating. I considered things for a moment, and then decided to open the window. I looked down to find a boy standing in the parking lot, staring quite mushily up at me. The corners of my lips turned downward, I could feel it.

"Alex!" the boy said in a thick British accent. He had golden brown hair that was swept to the side; it was long, almost as long as Max's was. He was too far away for me to notice anything else (aside from his all-white state of dress). "How about a night about town?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "And you are…?"

He seemed at a loss for words, his mouth falling open just slightly. He scrambled, removing his white fedora. "It's me," he tapped his chest with the hand that clenched his hat. "Mason?"

I wracked my brain for his face, but could find none. There wasn't a single thing I could find familiar about him. I found it interesting that no one had mentioned him; it'd been almost three weeks. He must've been some kind of former Beaux. I shuddered at the word.

"C-can I come up?" He said weakly, just loud enough for me to hear. I shrugged.

--

"I tried to call you…" he said blushing. He had soft features and he was attractive but something was missing. "I haven't heard from you in a while…"

I wasn't surprised, like I'd mentioned before Michael and his team of snoops did everything within their power to keep mine and Max's disappearance secret. According to Garrett, it had something to do with some Magical mishaps that'd been occurring in the Wizarding community. I had a strange feeling that his words were only half true.

"Uh… yeah, I was out of country doing some Gallery stuff." I lied quickly. I led the way to my living room and we sat down on the couch.

"Oh, I thought you were putting down the camera for a while."

Crap.

"Yeah, but I never said I was putting down painting."

He nodded in acceptance. If it made sense to him that was good enough for me. He smiled at me after a moment and seemed to resume his earlier position of swooning.

"I've missed you… a lot." He breathed in a seductive manner. We were sitting just a bit too close. He tangled his fingers in my hair, pulling me closer with his free hand. I could see where this was going. I clammed up making my face completely stiff and irresponsive. He didn't take the hint. Leaning down he pressed his lips to mine.

I turned my face from his, letting out the breath I'd been holding. "Y'know what, how about we go for that 'night about the town' you were talking about. I've missed New York." I could hear my voice and how strained it seemed.

"Sure, just lemme grab my coat." He was still grinning haplessly. I couldn't pin point why it bothered me so much, but I didn't want to get close to him. The humming magic under my skin seemed to repel him; making it sting unpleasantly when we touched.

--

We walked up 42nd street browsing through the stores and talked (while I unsubtly kept my distance). He talked about how his photography business had taken off and how he was traveling now. I couldn't help but think how boring it was to talk to him. We liked all the same things: the same foods, same movies, same music; same everything. We even had the same jobs: both artists struggling to make a name for themselves.

He bought us both a piece of New York Pizza, possibly the most delectable thing I'd ever had the pleasure of raising to my lips. I was growing used to the monotonous lights and sounds that were the usual for the city life. I almost enjoyed it. It was turning out to be a decent night with Mason after all. And then I saw it, a huge group of people gathered around the opening of a local bar. Several girls were whistling as their boyfriends stood beside them looking crossly at whoever was exiting.

"Alabaster Broken! Whooo!"

A random girl ran up to her, tears welling up in her eyes, and taking her by the shoulders she shouted. "Justin Russo just kissed me!"

I dropped my pizza, and it was very classy I must say because I could feel my face heat up and turn several different shades of red. She scampered away squealing to herself, but I couldn't seem to make myself move. The tight balls at my waist made my knuckles turn white and I could feel my nails dig into my palm.

"Alex…" I could hear his voice crack. I could feel how austere my face was. I took a breath and made quick strides towards them leaving Mason stumbling after me. It didn't take any time at all for me to spot Justin with his guitar on his back. I pushed my way through the crowd ignoring the many curses and 'who does she think she is's that followed after me. It was easy for me to locate where the fierce emotion was oozing from.

They had a large security guard following them and somehow I didn't feel even a little bit phased. I yanked the rope down so I could pass (reattaching it quickly so that no one could trail behind me). The security guy's eyes bulged out of his head.

"Chill out big guy, you'll give yourself a brain hemorrhage." I muttered irritably as I stood in the way of their exit.

At the sound of my voice two pairs of eyes met mine both of them silver-blue. They looked almost identical except for subtle differences, the face shape was the same, but the noses were different, and so was the hair color. His brother kept his hair long and shaggy, covering his eyes. Nathaniel was wearing a white undershirt with a gray vest and skinny jeans, while Justin was dressed in black from head to toe.

"Alex?" Justin asked incredulously. He was the one wearing all black and he looked more like some kind of grave robber then a world famous guitarist. Justin was about to smile, until he noticed my expression. I was familiar with that face and it reminded me of a child being scolded.

"Do you want me to take care of her?" The guard said gruffly not bothering to hide his glare. Justin held up a hand and met me where I was and the buff guy grumbled.

"What're you doing here?"

"I live here," I replied laconically furrowing my brow. He blushed a little as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and fire erupted even through the thin fabric of my shirt. I tried to quell the feelings bubbling in the abyss of my stomach.

"Let's take this conversation somewhere else." He threw a smile and a wave over his shoulder at his brother, Nat (yeah, I did pay attention) and the crowd in assurance. Of course, they would've noticed the obvious confrontation about to occur, and there was no doubt it would make news. Crap. Garrett wouldn't be happy.

I could see it now '_Justin Russo's new Girl!' w_ritten all over the tabloids. Ugh. I noticed Mason from the corner of my eye, head hung low with his forgotten pizza in hand. I did feel a teensy bit guilty for the boy, but not much.

--

"Nice getup," I said plucking at the fabric of his black shirt, "planning on hitting a bank after this?"

"Yeah, wanna join me?" I stuck my tongue out at him.

He smirked, rolling his eyes. He yanked the black beanie off of his head and ran a hand through his hair forcing it down over his forehead. I watched as he meticulously groomed himself. I mused inwardly at how our interactions were natural; maybe even too natural from people who'd only knowingly met each other once.

"So… you have a twin." I began as we walked down east 16th, frozen hot chocolates in hand. He sipped his drink his expression attentive.

"Yes, I have a twin. Fraternal, but we have the same eye color. If you look closely we're not identical at all; we just have the same face shape." He nodded as he spoke. He was looking ahead and not at me but I kind of wished he would. "And you… you're a wizard."

I stammered for an instant before resigning. Did that mean he was a wizard too? I knew one thing; there was some huge rule about wizards being secret and all that. "How did you know?"

"I am too—er—was… Nate won." He shifted his weight before stopping abruptly. "Well, this is my stop."

"You kissed that girl." It was supposed to be a statement; it was supposed to be nonchalant, it was supposed to be anything but how it was. My voice split going high for a second and I mentally kicked myself for it. It was an accusation.

"No, I didn't. Nat did he's…" he lowered his voice to a whisper (Nat was right behind us), "my evil twin."

He winked. I smiled. It was so cliché. Something felicitous erupted in my chest and I wanted to fight it because I hated all that girly stuff. There was something that was missing and I knew it. There was a connection that ran deeper than the bone but I couldn't place it. My phone beeped: Text Message.

_Where are you? – M _

Mason. It had to be. Max wasn't allowed to have a cell phone after the china incident according to mom (apparently you shouldn't trust someone like Max to avoid making strange phone calls to China at 3 am). I groaned out loud.

"What's wrong?" His eyebrows rose inquisitively and his forehead creased in concern. He laid a hand on mine; an involuntary shudder rushed through my spine. Maybe it was how genuine he was in his worry for me that was the huge difference between him and Mason.

"I dunno, it's late and it looks like one of my former beaux's is looking for another hook up." I admitted reluctantly waving the text in front of his face. "I don't even remember him. If I go home he'll probably be waiting there…"

I didn't miss how stiff Justin had gone, his ears turning beat red. His gaze was stone cold but it wasn't directed at me, it was focused on the tiny LED screen that was in front of him. A light passed over his eyes and the corners of his lips curled up.

"How about you stay here?" He said gesturing to the small flat above him. I laughed because this was only our second official meet since… well… since the whole hotel thing. Granted, we did know each other from a long time ago. I mulled it over in my head.

"You can transport out of here in the morning, that way none of the paparazzi can attack you," he supplied. "I have some flannel pajamas you can use."

Sold, to the grave robber with the guitar. "Okay," I nodded smiling sheepishly. "But just because I don't wanna be stalked by the British guy."

"British, huh?" He mused, then smiling mischievously in the most horrible accent possible. "Really I 'ere that British-English is the new language 'o loovveee."

"Oh, please, don't make me turn you into a ferret." He poked my side teasingly. My body protested when he pulled away, with that we walked up the steps and into the loft building.

**--**

**A: Please read and review! I hope you enjoyed it! **


	6. Historia Vitae Magistra

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wizards. I wish I did. I wouldn't have altered the script and made Justin and Alex brother and sister. So there. No copy right infringement intended. Disney ©2009-2010 **

**Note: Sorry this is kinda short! I'll probably go back and edit a little bit! I hope you enjoy it anyway! **

"The beginning of knowledge is the discovery of something we do not understand." – Frank Herbert

--

I wouldn't admit it but being with Justin changed me—it was like he was peeling away all of my pretense, and slowly but surely my self imposed walls were falling. I couldn't let this happen, but I couldn't close myself completely off. Not now when I needed to know so much.

Justin's apartment was not what I expected from a 23-year old rock star, let alone two of them. It smelled something like apple cinnamon and Armani Exchange cologne; there were no miscellaneous smells. I half expected there to be some room roped off somewhere in the back that no one entered for fear of their well-being to make up for all the order in the front of the apartment, but there was none. Even more surprising was the incredible lack of empty pizza boxes and soda cans. There wasn't a sock out of place.

"What?" Justin asked bemusedly, eyes roaming my face intently.

"Nothing… it's just not what I expected."

"What, no hookers?" He laughed as he set his guitar down. He made his way into the kitchen while I lingered by the doorway. There was a table with three pictures on it, and a home phone that looked full of unanswered messages. I dragged my finger along the mahogany wood. Not even dust.

"No, it's just _clean_." I said sounding bewildered.

A clangor of laughter erupted behind me as Nat walked in. He'd just finished transporting all of his amps and his drum set to wherever they were headed next. "Yeah, I know, Nancy Knickers never lets anything get messy… he's so OCD."

"I happen to want to live for more than a few years! Living like you did at home, we'd both be sent to the hospital." Justin remarked indignantly. "Besides, there's nothing wrong with being able to see the floor or to taste your food."

Nat just rolled his eyes as he unloaded his backpack onto the ground near the door where he stood. "Is that what you tell yourself while you're cleaning your Calico Woman collection?"

Justin went quiet but it was obvious how flustered he was by the crimson color his ears turned. He was giving his brother a deadly glare—complete with the narrowed eyes and pursed lips (and no, it wasn't cute… sort of). Nat walked into the kitchen oblivious, brushing past his brother to get something from the refrigerator. He plopped down on the black leather couch in the living room with a coke.

"Oh c'mon, bro, chill out." He waved dismissively with his coke in hand.

Justin gave me an apologetic look. Maybe it should've felt strangely to be in the middle of a sibling squabble like that, but it didn't. It felt… natural.

I shrugged, "I understand,"

"Hey!" Nat replied huffily. We all laughed momentarily. "It's not like you're mister perfect, Justin; you let this one go, obviously you're an idiot."

I coughed uncomfortably, shoving my hands into the pockets of my trench coat. I could feel the heat rise to my face as I watched Justin's actions mirror my own. Nat rolled his eyes and flipped on the television, shaking his head and mumbling to himself unintelligibly.

"Well, this is pleasant." I remarked flippantly.

"Uh, c'mon, I'll show you my room—you can sleep there tonight, I'll take the couch." He moved swiftly towards his room with me in tow. It was simple and very put together. The farthest wall had a large window whose sill was cluttered with books. He had a small desk with a Macbook open on top, it seemed to be playing a movie.

"The Adventures of Jim Bob Sherwood?" I asked teasingly.

"Hey, he's a classic!" He defended quickly. I poked my tongue out in between my teeth further jibing him.

I continued to explore the room as he unpacked the cables to his guitar from his gig bag. "So wait, how did we move around town without girls mauling you?"

"Ah, incognito spell," He said simply flopping down on the edge of his made bed. It was almost perfect the way it was made, military grade perfection. There wasn't even a wrinkle on his plaid sheets. I inspected the shelves closer and my eyes lighted when I saw it—the same black, suede book I'd found at my parents home. The only difference was the side read: TRIBECCA PREP 2008-2009.

I picked it up and it felt just as heavy in my hand as the last time. "What's that?"

"It's your yearbook," I answered looking zealously for my name. How old would I have been? 15?

"You were a freshman, and I was a sophomore at the time," He motioned for me to sit next to him on his bed and I did. He was looking at me intently scanning my face for a sign of something—I just didn't know what. I sat Indian style next to him and my knee bumped his hip, and just like so many times before my skin erupted with fire. I was really starting to get tired of that.

"Do you remember that?" I asked curious. He shook his head 'no', the corner of his lips turning down. "What do you remember?"

"Not much," he murmured looking off into the distance. He looked saddened by his response, and my intestines were knotting themselves up because of it. "Most of what I know is based on what Nat told me."

"What did he tell you?" I was leaning closer to him and I could feel it. The heat emitting from his body was hitting my face with the force of a punch.

"He didn't 'tell' me per se," he replied looking away for a moment before meeting my gaze again. His blue eyes were holding something peculiar, and I couldn't place it. "He showed me—he showed me his memories; every one of them. But I still can't remember any of it."

"Can he show me too? Just the ones with me in it?" The question came out of my mouth before I could think about it. This could be the answer I was looking for. "But wait… if he can use a spell to conjure up his memories, why can't he just display yours?"

"It doesn't work like that." He said, forehead crinkling in frustration. "I don't know how it works. Nothing makes sense. There are things I know how to do, but I can't explain it. I can play the guitar and I know the chords to every song, but I don't know where I learned or when. I know how to build a robot from scratch, and I could explain to you any formula from the Robotics Engineering courses but I can't remember ever going to Colombia."

There was urgency in his voice, a quiet desperation that was breaking him from the inside out. He was like an open book, unshielded because he didn't want to be. He wanted someone to understand him and I was the only one who could it seemed. He was opening up his soul before me and all I could do was sit quietly, watching as he went.

There was a bout of silence and it screamed. Justin was looking at his hands lost in something I couldn't even begin to imagine.

"There's something different about here," Justin continued suddenly, voice barely a whisper. "Something I don't get, it's like we do and don't belong. I can feel it. It's binding me here, these imaginary chains… but if we don't belong here…" He trailed off.

"If we don't belong here—what if I don't want to leave?" My brain spoke up, much faster than I thought possible. I could sense a bad habit forming, or maybe it was just a habit that never died.

He studied me for a second and then a brief smirk played on his lips. "Why would you want to stay?"

"I, uh—" I began, puckering my eyebrows. I was about to speak when the door swung open.

"Hey, love birds," Nat burped, and then he laughed uncontrollably. "That was cool right? Have you ever heard anything _like _that?"

"No, Nat, I can't say that I have," I mumbled acerbically.

"Aw, what's wrong Ally?" He asked good-humoredly. I definitely didn't approve of the 'Ally' thing. "Is Justin boring you with Calico woman?"

"Nat!" Justin yelled tossing a pillow at his head; Nat ducked. Justin had moved so fast beside me that I hadn't noticed him move until I bounced lightly at the sudden movement. "Dude, GET OUT!"

"Sheesh, you're so pushy! I just came in here to tell you dad called, I think he wants you to call him back. I'll wait here with Alex," He tossed Justin the wireless phone that I hadn't noticed. I was too busy focusing on not pulling out my wand (despite the fact that I didn't know any decent spells) and hurting him. Justin reluctantly got up his expression again remorseful; he paused at the door for a moment his eyes raking over my face before leaving.

Nat made his way over towards me and settled in Justin's roller chair, swinging back and forth like a kid he looked at me, questioning.

"He still doesn't remember anything," He said bluntly, abruptly sitting still. He waited for some kind of response, but I didn't have one. "I'll wager to say that you don't remember either."

"No, I don't," I answered, monotone. He looked at me sympathetically. Then after a beat I asked, "Can you show me memories?"

"Justin told you, eh?" He cackled. Smiling at me he pulled out his wand, it was bronze and it looked something like a giant metal straw. "Alright, I guess I should; it's only fair. Let's start with the first one…"

Nat directed his wand on the back wall so that I had to turn completely around from my place on Justin's bed and flicked his wrist saying, "Mens occulus,"

The memory flashed before me with brilliance, it seemed more like a movie than something from his brain.

_Justin came running down the street towards Nat; he must've been seven or eight. His hair was long and straight, it went down to the middle of his neck. He his backpack was hitched high on his shoulder; he was shaking with either excitement or aggravation I wasn't sure which. _

"_C'mon, Nathaniel, we're gonna be late for school!" Justin whined. "You know I hate it when we're late; Dad told me I had to make sure you got there on time." _

"_Oh whatever, gosh, you're such a stinking goody toe shoes." Nat grumbled, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "You're just eager to talk to that De Luca girl Dad told us to stay away from." _

"_Am not!" Justin rebutted, but he turned that trademark red and his nose was flaring. He was lying. _

_They made it all the way to Tribecca Elementary in one piece, but Nat complained the whole time. Justin zoomed past him and into the front doors. He was definitely looking for someone and trying to be inconspicuous but failing horribly. He had his hand so tight on his backpack strap that his knuckles were white as he searched—then, judging by the look on his face, he found what he'd been looking for. _

_I saw a younger me playing a hand game with a young red haired girl with a strange Pound Puppy outfit. Justin was staring noticeably, but there was no sign of awe or anything that suggested he had a crush on me. Younger me looked up finally noticing him and the redhead followed suit (she instantaneously melted at the sight). I smiled at him and gave a small wave. _

"You guys were best friends throughout most of school—High school is where it got messy." Nat said retracting the wand and the memory with it. "Of course, our parents never knew because they were sworn 'enemies' or whatever. I still don't get that…" He was thoughtful for a moment. "Anyway, I'll show you more some other time, Justin's off the phone."

"Huh?" I couldn't help but ask.

"He's right behind you," he laughed slipping his wand back into the back of his shoe.

"I guess we should let you sleep," Justin murmured his eyes doing that thing again—that stupid thing that was unreadable and bugged the crap out of me. I hated being kept in the dark, and more importantly I wanted more answers. He tossed me his flannel pajamas, just as promised, and left me to dress myself.

I drifted off quickly, much more tired than I had anticipated. I would make sure to learn some memory spells; I didn't know how much longer I could pretend I knew what was going on in my life. I would definitely have to talk to Max to see if he remembered anything.

--

**I'm sorry it's so short! I promise to make it longer next chapter if you review! :) I know that you lovely people have been favoriting/alerting this story, but reviews are the motivator here :P So please and thank you :) **


	7. Cor Unum: One Heart

**Disclaimer: I don't own Wizards. Disney 2009-2010 ©**

**Note: Thank you all for reviewing! Special shout out to Porkchop Sandwiches for reviewing for every single one of my chapters, I really appreciate it. Thanks to the 34 people who alerted this story, and to the 24 who've favorited it. I hope you guys like this chapter! I also hope it doesn't seem rushed! If it does seem rushed I do apologize, RL has been kicking my butt. Please Read and Review! **

I looked around through the glass-like, sleep-induced haze. The sunlight peaked in through the window to my right, beaming me directly in the eye; keeping me from rolling over and going back to sleep. I groaned pulling the covers over my face; squeezing my eyes shut. It took a moment for the nights events to fully sink in and collect in the center of my mind: Justin, Nat; memories… I was suddenly very alert and my vision was crystal clear. I yanked the blanket off of my head. I analyzed my surroundings to find myself tangled in the huge-blue mass that was his comforter. I was wearing his red flannel pajamas, just as he'd promised.

I wondered immediately what time it was, and where Justin had gone off to. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, taking a moment to stabilize myself before putting my feet on the floor. The wood felt cold against my skin, shocking my senses awake (if any had still been snoozing), and my legs wobbled momentarily.

I was surprised to find some brand new clothes sitting next to the bed, in a small bag next to my own things. He must've come in while I was asleep. I rummaged through them; it wasn't anything complicated. It was a plain-white ruffled blouse that vaguely reminded me of Jack Sparrow (but it was nice, and the sleeves were mid-length), and a pair of skinny jeans. I smiled to myself.

I gathered my stuff in my arms; moving clumsily towards the bed again, I bumped into a small stack of books piled up on his nightstand. They went clattering to the ground. I cursed out loud as I bent down to pick up the mess I'd made (with the knowledge that I could probably use magic, but not completely sure that I could use it without accidentally causing a bigger mess). I restacked the books where they belonged.

Just as I was about to change clothes something caught my attention. I'd missed a book because it managed to get almost all the way under the bed. It was small and black and it blended well with the shadows. I knelt down to retrieve it. In big, colorful letters it read '_Justin's Little Book of Favorite Things'. _The words were squished together, as if he (probably a younger Justin) had run out of room. It felt like construction paper (most likely it was).

The inside cover was dated August 14, 2001 to April 9, 2004. I flipped the first page open to find a picture of a young, dark haired girl sitting next to an oddly dressed bronze haired girl, the same one from Nat's memory. It only took half a second to realize that the young brunette was me. My name was scrawled in little boy's script: _Alexandra De Luca, April 1__st__, 1998_. I flicked through the other pages quickly stunned that I was in a lot of his pictures.

The very last picture in the book made my heart hightail it into my throat. It was titled 'Secret Birthday Party', and it was a picture of the red-head, Justin, and me. Justin was in the middle, smiling brightly with a goofy hand-made party hat on his head. I was sitting next to him, laughing so hard that my eyes crinkled, and my cheeks were red. Our foreheads were touching. He had a cupcake in his hand, and I had frosting on almost all of my upper lip. Harper was smiling too, but not in the same way. Her expression seemed more—what was the word?—platonic?

Just then, the smell of freshly cooked eggs and bacon wafted past my nostrils. My stomach growled in protest, chiding me for my apparent negligence. There was a small rapping against the door; I slammed the book shut, placing it on the bottom of the stack of books. I quickly got back in the bed.

"Come in," I said weakly, my voice cracking but not for lack of sleep. I eyed the door assiduously as someone opened it. Justin peered in slowly, his cheek bones glossed with the remnants of a blush, and in his arms he carried a tray of food.

He smiled sheepishly, "I made breakfast?"

"Just in time, I was on the verge of starvation." I laughed pushing myself back into the sitting position. Justin made his way towards me, sitting on the edge of the bed as he laid the tray on my lap. He stared at me with a peculiar expression and we stayed like that for a few minutes—just staring at each other. When he finally broke eye contact, I let out a small breath. Had I been holding that the entire time?

He saw the clothes on the other side of the bed. He smirked but his eyes were apprehensive, picking at them cautiously as if it would randomly start attacking him.

"They won't bite," I teased shoveling some of the warm eggs into my mouth. He flushed a deep red all the way to his collar. "Thank you, by the way; you didn't have to."

He nodded noiselessly; I continued to nibble at my food. The silence was companionable; there was a unusual happiness that stemmed from his presence that I couldn't quite place (I wasn't even sure I wanted to yet).

"This is really good," I said conversationally. It wasn't a lie, it really was fabulous. "I didn't know you could cook."

He shrugged. He looked at the ground for a long time, lost in thought. Then, when he looked at me, the silver-blue shimmered with melancholy. "Me neither. Apparently, my mom taught me before she left a few years ago…"

"She left?"

"Yeah, divorced." He said offhandedly. "She couldn't take my dad's workaholism; she was so determined that she could make him change and then one day she snapped—packed all her things and left."

I was quiet for a moment before continuing. "Do you remember it?"

"Yes, actually, it's one of the few things I do remember." He answered. He was playing with the end of his shirt, distracting himself from something that was obviously bothering him. I wanted to know what it was. I finished off the rest of my breakfast and pushed the tray off of me; scooting closer to him. I let my legs dangle off the bed to where they occasionally brushed against his. Thankfully after twenty-four hours of accidental touching the flame that once brewed under my skin dimmed—I'd become desensitized.

"What's wrong?" I asked. He looked up in alarm, clearly anxious about my seeing past his charade. I cocked an eyebrow, eyeing him incredulously. He was never a good liar. Then, it hit me. I just remembered something about Justin –something tangible and not a fantasy from a possible reality.

I muted my excitement for a moment while I waited for a response. "I just found out this morning that a… friend of mine was coming over." There was no hiding the extreme guilt written all over his face. He was sweating culpability from every pore in his body. There were certain telltale signs with amateur liars: hesitation and responsibility. Everyone knew by 'friend' he was talking about his girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend. My gut tightened, and I fought the urge to become irresponsive and cold.

"You have a girlfriend." There was no question in my voice, but it was pleasingly indifferent. It held a sort of 'I should have known' tone. He immediately went into defense mode, only proving his fault.

"Justin!" I snapped, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to look at me. He stopped what he was saying, not that I had understood a single word of his rushed speech, and stared at me in wholesome innocence. I wanted to pretend it didn't have that 'ker-thump' effect, and maybe if I faked it long enough it would be true. Maybe. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" his voice was small, harboring the weight of remorse.

"Apologizing." I muttered exasperatedly, throwing my hands into the air with a bitter laugh. "We all make mistakes."

Then he was off, rambling again about how he didn't make a mistake with me. How he was just starting to remember this life because of me. I was just starting to remember things too. We needed each other, but I couldn't admit to that. Not now or ever.

"Justin!"

"I'm sorry! I just don't want you to think this is a mistake… none of this is a mistake!" He was on his feet now, staring at me with the purest determination and finality I'd ever seen. He was breathing deeply now, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and his face was flushed with annoyance.

"I never said that, Justin, but if you have a girlfriend then I definitely shouldn't be here." Memories were filing into my mind in an orderly fashion as I spoke. I was a trouble maker as a teen, selfish, pig-headed some might say, but even I knew it would be wrong.

Justin paced around the room, brooding, mumbling to himself. Then he stopped abruptly. "But what if my mistake was letting you go?"

Oh God, now this was starting to sound like some teen-sap-story. I frowned, my eyebrows rising as I stood. "I can't do this to whatever poor girl thinks she might love you."

"Alex, STOP!" He yelled suddenly, surprising even me. Justin was normally so in check, well-mannered, responsible; he was practically Johnny freaking honest. "I make my decisions—no one else—maybe I can't make your decisions, but I've made mine!"

"What decision is that, Justin?" I growled, poking him in the chest. He caught my wrist, and pulled me closer. It didn't hurt and I knew he wasn't doing it to be aggressive but to stop me from becoming aggressive.

"I chose you!"

"No," I tried to say firmly, but I wavered.

"I chose you…" His eyes were softer now; he wrapped me in a hug, but I was determined.

"You can't know that… we've only known each other for a few weeks." I whispered into his shirt. He put his hands on my shoulders, as if to steady me, and he studied my face tentatively.

"But I do…" He was inching closer. A small alarm in the back of my head was going off somewhere, something was wrong with this. I wanted to pull away but I couldn't. The selfish part of me wanted this, so badly. It came down to seconds really, and I knew it was coming because I could feel his warm breath on my face.

That was it. Our lips touched.

Everything rushed back. Everything. Justin, my brother. Justin, my friend. Justin, Justin, Justin. My parents Theresa and Jerry… forgetting us. Justin pulling me out of the death-pit I almost fell into when we were chasing the Stone of Dreams. My parents Garrett and Tessa scolding me because I'd used magic to send Max away to a summer camp with sea monkeys. I remembered Justin, my friend, comforting me after a bad break up; a kiss so chaste, so blameless that my lips tingled.

I remembered every detail of my existence(s).

My head was throbbing.

I pulled away, but I didn't run. I saw the recognition in Justin's eyes. He knew too. I tried to find a sense of wrongness in what I'd just done, committed, but I could find none. Neither of us moved (or breathed for that matter). We just stared at each other in numb shock.

"Alex?" Justin finally asked after the almost ten minute silence. "What have we done?"

I couldn't answer. I never could.

**Note: I'm sorry if this seemed rushed or short! Please leave a review, I'll love you forever for it! Thank you all for everything. I couldn't keep writing if not for all the enthusiasm. **


	8. Bureau of National Wizardry: US Division

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wizards of Waverly Place. All rights are reserved for their perspective owners © Disney 2010-2011. **

**Note: Oh my gosh. Please forgive me for taking so long to update my fic! Life has been taking over, but spring break is here and I have a house to clean… can anyone say yay? No? No. Anyway, I hope you'll be especially merciful and review because… y'know I'd love you for it? Well, anyway, just another shout out: thank you to the 44 people who favorite 'd my fic, and the 34 for alerted it. (Also, Porkchop Sandwiches who has in fact reviewed for every chapter, and Nick Parker who came very close! Btw, you all should go read Porkchop Sandwiches fic, "Okayy, Well Hii!" if you haven't already.) **

My lips were burning—like rubbing chapped lips in vinegar and salt—I'd only noticed now. My skin was pricking all over. I was aggravated—no, more than aggravated—I was livid. I rubbed at my arms fiercely, licking my lips to ease the ache. Why was this happening? I watched as Justin paced back and forth in front of me, his arms crossed, and his eyebrows set in concentration. I grimaced. He was more than eager to put distance between us after everything sunk in, and it bothered me much more than it should.

I flopped backwards onto his bed, heaving a loud sigh, hoping that my obvious annoyance would register in his head. Evidently, my attempts were ineffective. He continued back and forth, mumbling to himself about how dad was supposed to have prepared us for the mercurial thing called Magic. But hello, we didn't even finish our studies, and the only reason he was so upset was because he thought he knew all there was to know. For once, he was wrong, confused, and without an answer to the situation.

I was upset, but I did understand.

Justin was and always would be an over analytical, Captain Bob Sherwood loving, know-it-all with a brain he thinks is so huge it might capsize, but he was my over analytical nerd. Mine. The word rang in my head. Mine. I shook the thought away as I continued to rub at my skin.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Justin muttered, eyeing me suspiciously as I continued to itch.

"Pfft, what's wrong with _you_?" I rebutted, folding my arms over my chest moodily.

He shook his head, rolling his eyes (and hey that was my bid!). "Why are you itching?"

"I dunno, Sherlock, why don't you tell me?" I spat. Then after a brief pause, "Don't you feel that too?"

"No, I don't. I'm a bit more focused on the issue at hand." He said making giant hand gestures, as if that would help him make his point rather than make him look like an idiot. Well, unfortunately for him, he looked like an idiot (in an endearing, attractive sort of way, but really who's paying any attention to that?). It was my turn to roll my eyes. I couldn't bear to look at him any longer; I rolled over so that I was on my stomach looking at the wall.

"Look, why don't we rewind?" Justin said softly. I turned towards his voice; he was suddenly very close, leaning over me from where he was on the bed. My breath hitched. "We have to start from the beginning. What happened when you arrived here?"

I focused on the words I was saying, anything to distract from the fact that his face was only inches from mine. I told him about Jeffery and Michael and how they somehow knew where to find me. I told him about how Max remembered me before I remembered myself. If I really thought about it (which I didn't), then it would've been obvious much sooner that something was amiss. How would they've known exactly where to find me or Max?

Justin looked distant but I could tell the gears were turning in his head; there was a certain resolve behind his eyes.

"We have to find them." Justin said suddenly, righting himself so that he was far enough to let me breathe.

"I don't know how to get a hold of them." I sighed, scrubbing my face (which was still prickling).

"But I do." He responded brusquely, picking up my clothes from the edge of the bed and tossing them at me. "Get dressed, we've gotta go somewhere."

"I don't take demands, Justin." I growled in spite of my compliance. I yanked the jeans over my legs angrily. "I can think for myself, I'm not one of your little Alien Language League friends that you can just boss around."

"Alien Language League was a very prestigious group of people who banded together to teach themselves about Alien technology and communications." Justin rebutted, scandalized as I pulled my shirt over my head. "And is this really the time to be making fun of my achievements?"

I snorted. "Right, is there a better time? And by 'group' you just mean Zeke, yes?"

He didn't answer, just glared. I laughed, amused at his infuriation.

"Just c'mon." He took my arm and dragged me out of the door, leading me out like a child. He led me to a backroom in his apartment. The door was different from the others; heavier looking, made of mahogany. There was a small plaque on the door that said "Storage", which was peculiar for an apartment.

"Okay, Alex, I need you to open the door. It's just like the lair at home." He was talking slowly, making over-exaggerated hand gestures, and being so incredibly… Justin.

"Do you have to speak to everyone like they're too stupid to understand you?" I hissed, pushing him out of the way of the door. "Or do you reserve that for me?"

I dragged my wand across the creases in the door, until I made a full rectangle. Light shimmered from behind the cracks momentarily, a sign that it probably worked. I exhaled loudly, taking a step back. Justin just stared smugly, apparently aware of my impatience with him.

"Well, what're you waiting for, Princess? After you." I muttered throwing a hand in the direction of the door. He led me down the staircase to a room that looked much like the Lair in our own reality. The only difference was there was ten times the creepy furniture. There was a huge dragon wing mounted on the far wall, and the coffee table was made of dragon's bones. Clearly, Aurick Russo was a dragon collector. There was an entire library of spell books; it was much bigger than the one our dad owned (my stomach churned at the thought).

I abandoned Justin at the staircase, not bothering to send him another glance. I touched the hard, frayed covers of the old spell books that lined the shelves, the old woven threads that held it together continuing to come undone at the genial caress. Every other book was titled in Latin—which I didn't read.

"Dad was always fond of the older books," Justin murmured, suddenly beside me. His voice held a sound of reverence and respect. Then, he pointed to a thick, maroon leather book. "That one is about the Legend of the Stone of Dreams."

"I can see that," I said pointing at the golden etched words: La Piedra de los Sueños. "I remember you reading it off the map."

Despite my obvious attempt at showcasing my indifference, he continued to explain in a soft voice. "They say that the wizard who created the Stone of Dreams forged it out of Lava and his own blood. He made it so that everyone could experience the joy of magic, but mortals took advantage of it, slaughtering each other for the chance to hoard the power of the stone to themselves. He hid away with it, protecting it, to be sure that no one could abuse its power again." He paused in thought; his silver-blue eyes glistening in awe. Then he looked at me with an unreadable expression. "When the wizard began to die, he transferred all of his magic into the stone, but not before casting a limit-spell on it."

"That's why only a person can have only one wish." I remarked, amused at my own apparent interest.

Justin squeezed my fingertips and led me to a giant-television-slash-type-writer-looking device—one that I recognized immediately as the WWWW computer. The World Wide Wizard web could get access to anything; it was how we found our Aunt Megan (police records: the Wiz-Web people didn't really protect that kind of sensitive information).

"I'm sure you remember this," Justin gestured to the computer, pulling out the seat for me. I took a seat, laying my fingers over the old, heavy keys of the keyboard. He kneeled down beside me; his arm brushing against my leg. I ignored it (or valiantly tried, at least).

"So what do I search for?"

Justin put his hand over mine and dragged the mouse to the address bar; the warmth of his hand on mine sent a shiver down my spine. He looked up through the tiny veil of his lashes, silvery eyes seeming almost apologetic.

"May I?"

I nodded noiselessly.

Justin typed quickly and purposefully. His eyebrows were knotted in concentration, lips pursed into a thin, thin line—the tale tell signs that he was having a Justin moment. I could practically hear the cogs turning in his head.

He pulled up a government site, but it wasn't the usual (not that I was on any government site recently to compare). It was the Wizarding side of the Federal Community. In large black letters it was titled _The Bureau of National Wizardry: U.S. Division. _There were several links and a search box, which I used to search for his name. As usual, the WWWW worked perfectly; I guessed it had to do with extreme user friendliness. His name popped up in red bold letters. He was an agent of the BNW, definitely, but the department in which he worked was confidential. That had to be something huge. Justin and I shared a look of distain. What, exactly, were we getting ourselves into?

--

Transporting had to be my least favorite form of travel because it always left you dizzy and watery-eyed, but traveling by any other way would take too long and there was no portal at Justin's apartment. Luckily for me though, it was never very hard to ignore. Despite that fact, I was clinging to Justin, who was much more an anchor then my brother or former boyfriend (weird much?). All this alternate reality stuff was giving me a giant headache.

We spun through the thick matter for half a second, though it seemed longer. It took me a moment to regain my balance after touching down on the cold, checkered tile of the Lobby. Everything was black, gray, and sepia; it was like I'd worked my way into an old cartoon. It was too monochrome-y.

The receptionist was looking at us with glazed eyes, one eyebrow half-heartedly cocked in curiosity. I guess we weren't all that interesting. Transporting must've been a common entrance method.

"We'd like to speak with Michael R. Flynn, please?" Justin spoke with such abrupt eloquence that it was hard not to feel inferior. He was standing rigidly, his shoulders back making his defined chest apparent (how didn't I notice?).

"Do you have authorization?" The middle-aged woman droned as she stared without seeing through heavy-lidded eyes at her computer; not even bothering with a second glance.

"Uh, yes!" I remarked without thinking, popping my index finger up to form some kind of physical exclamation point. "We're the uh—" I looked down at my watch, "—the uh—ten o' clock."

Justin's eyes were bulging indecently out of his head, obviously questioning my way of 'winging' it. I glanced sneakily over at her listed appointments. "We're Joseph and Adrienne Marks from the Department of Prophesies."

She looked us over one last time before hitting a little red buzzer on her desk. "Mr. Long will be escorting you, Mr. and Mrs. Marks."

Married couple apparently.

Suddenly, after a small smoke-screen (small to reduce the chances of second-hand smoke, due to regulation), a brawny Asian man appeared in a black and white suit with black tie and black sunglasses. He looked like he just fell out of a "Men in Black" movie. He was stiff as he walked, his hand hovering nonchalantly over his wand that was barely hidden in its sheath, but I doubted it was anything relaxed.

He led us down a long hallway that seemed to shrink the further we got in. The fluorescent lights flickered like the start of those crappy, B rated horror movies I loved so much. A bout of nervousness swept through my stomach.

"You know, Ms. De Luca, using a fraudulent name and information is against several of your federal laws as well as international laws." Mr. Long said musingly, bringing down the glasses to the bridge of his stubby nose. He actually seemed like a really cool guy, if he wasn't so frightening. "It's a pity; you both seemed like such nice kids."

A pity? Out of nowhere, two goblins appeared with their horrifyingly wrinkled faces and pointed ears (they definitely didn't compare in appearance to their distant cousins the elves, that's for sure), and grabbed us from behind. They were strong little demons (and clammy and sweaty and gross).

"What are you going to do with us?" Justin inquired brusquely, trying as hard as I was to break the grasp of the creatures. I was running through every self-defense course I'd ever taken, which unfortunately was like… one in the second grade. Somehow, I figured screaming "fire" was going to do little good; I irrefutably couldn't get free without my wand.

SOL? It doesn't even cut it.


End file.
